Ten Times Zach Felt Something
by evafreed
Summary: Zach's been kidnapped and is being left to die. Memories flit through his head of all the times his co-workers made him feel- loved? Happy? ...something. Jack/Hodgins, heavy on the angst.


**KING OF THE LAB**

_**Chapter One: Memoirs of a Squint**_

A/N: Set a month or so after the first episode of Season 3, let's say. I do love Angela/Hodgins, but Zack/Jack just works so very well. It could almost pass for a jealous friendship fic, so if you want to interpret it as such, feel free.

Super ambigious endings FTW. If you'd like a sequel, please review.

Zack dimly registered light. Then the fact that the material he was lying on did not have the same, pleasingly clinical crispness of his sheets at home. Startled, he gave a sudden attempt to force his eyes open. It was far more painful then it should have been, and he found himself crying out weakly. Fumbling, he reached around until he found a bottle, and using the water as a sort of buffer, opened his eyes.

Darkness awaited him. In his state of confusion, Zack had to feel for his eyes to make sure they were open. His hands came away wet, and fraught with fear, Zack grabbed the flashlight he knew was on his keychain. The pocket of his jeans and the light were still intact. Switching the light on, he was greeted by an strange and unfamiliar sight.

Instead of the comfortable and clinical bed he should of been lying in, the shocking sight of a basement awaited him. Cold cement met his elbows and water dripped from the ceiling and onto his hospital grade scrubs.

"I do not have a basement. Nobody I know has a basement that looks like this. Therefore, I must be someone's basement that I don't know. It is most likely that I have been kidnapped. It is likely that I will be murdered." Zack uttered dumbly, twisting the material of his shirt between his fingers. "I completely recognize that I am in shock. My fingers have little mobility. My body is in a high scale of pain. My throat is dry. Therefore, I must have been knocked unconcious before being taken here."

Reciting the statements helped calm him down slightly in the dark and damp room. Zack put a hand to his hair, tugging on it and getting his bearings. He attempted to move his legs- both the chains and the searing pain in them made it impossible. Zack reflected- mobility of the arms, if not the legs was good. Dying- dying would not be good.

His vision was slightly blurred, but he was almost certain he was underground. Sighing, Zack put his head in his hands, blinking back the tears he never expected to be there. _Why?_

Sadly enough, he knew why. It had to be- Hodgins. Someone had taken him as leverage for Hodgins's money, knowing how close the two were. Taking a deep and shaky breath, Zack attempted to keep his breaths even, but before he knew it, he was having a full blown grade school panic attack, complete with huffing.

As he lay there, though the panicked state was foremost in his hand, at the back of Zack's head, the little voice was telling him things. _Zack- this is illogical. You will waste the air that you have left. Take longer, deeper breaths. Think of something to calm you down. _

Zack closes his eyes. He remembers.

_"C'mon, Zack, just hit it!" _Hodgins laughs, hair brighter then ever in the moonlight washing over the baseball stadium. "It's very difficult. I need to think about the leverage of the bat versus the ongoing force of the ball directed by Dr. Brennan."

Brennan shoots a "is-this-really-necessary" look to Cam. She shrugs. Bonding excersizes have become an unfortunately large part of the lab lately. Cam and Angela practically thrive on them, whereas the other four see them as embaressing. Booth barely goes near the squints as is.

With a great sigh, Brennan tosses the ball at him. Zack, looking ridiculous with his short and choppy hair under the baseball hat, swings and misses. For the fourth time. Booth taps his foot. "You get me all excited for the great American sport and Addy gets to go first. Not fair." The surly man grumbles. Booth believes that baseball is better during the day, but Cam vied for night-time, citing the heat as an excuse.

"Shush, Booth. Take your time, Zacky." Angela shouts from the side. Zack swings yet again, stumbling in the dirt. "Ugh. Zack. Let me help." Hodgins grumbles, stepping over to him. "Okay. Put your hands on mine. On the bat." Hesitantly, Zack raises his hands, placing them both on the shining wood. Hodgins hands overlap his, like a little brother dancing on the shoes of his older brother.

His hands are warm and have formed calluses from hours of work. Zack swallows. "Swing through, okay? Like this." Hodgins shows him how to follow through, and Zack instinctively leans into the touches, his elbow barely touching the fabric of Hodgins's shirt. He can feel him breathing, smell the slight scent of his cologne. Zack observes with clinical satisfication that Jack's shoelaces are undone.

Hodgins shows him a couple more times before stepping back and letting him try it on his own. Brennan rolls her eyes, and tosses the ball for the Nth time. Zack steps back before swinging through. With a crack of satisfaction, the ball hits his bat and sails slightly upwards and back, ricoting off the back of the batting cage and smacking into the back of Zack's head. "Ow." Zack states, closing his eyes and falling on his rear.

"Ohhh man." Hodgins says, supporting Zack at the elbow and begins helping him up. "That- is not how you hit it." Zack looks up at Hodgins, blinking stupidly. "I hit it, Hodgins." He says blantently. "I hit it."

"Okay, buddy." Hodgins snorts, signaling to his car. The rest of the group nods. He leads Zack to the front of the car and opens the door. "I hit it!" Zack repeats, ecstatic. "I hit it!"

"Yeah, dude. You also might have a concussion. We're going home." Zack rests his head against the window. He's always enjoyed watching the scenery pass by. It helps. Zack's scared of cars.

"I hit it-" Zack starts, truimphant.

"I know, buddy." Hodgins continues as Zack falls into sleep, lulled by the particular scent of the car and the sound of Hodgins steady breathing. "I know."

And later, when Zack is blearily awakening as the car slows at a traffic light, he feels Hodgins lean over to ruffle his hair, speaking in soft tones. "You hit it, buddy. King of the lab. This week." He leans back into his seat, and Zack senses his smile. He remains feigning sleep, adoring the soft guitar tones of the radio and _the soothing feeling that Hodgin's hands are still on his, leading and guiding him. _

Zack opens his eyes again, feeling marginally calmer. He rubbed up and down his arms, feeling cold. Searching in the dark for resources, he came across his computer bag. Body singing with the chill, he fished around in the bag for a few moments before his fingers touch warm material. He slips Angela's sweater on. It smells like her, ink, vanilla, coconut, and the slightest scent of Hodgins which still lingers. Closes his eyes. Zack remembers.

_It was a attack case. _One of those "getting Dr. Brennan back by hurting her friends" They went for Booth first, but when he nearly shot one of them, they became more careful. They were solving an irrelevant case- simple mummified routine- when a compression bomb got in Cam's way. She barely escaped, but ended up uninjured. After that, everyone got more careful- and the attackers less sophisticated.

Zack had begun walking to the bus stop. The arbitrary ride from Hodgins had been halted, as he had to stay later then Zack. "Lots of bugs on this case." He had told Zack. "Wait up for me and we'll watch some Star Trek."

Zack had agreed- if somewhat reluctantly- he didn't like the inconsistent facts, but he did enjoy the lights and science fiction elements. He had walked halfway to the bus stop before being attacked.

Later, they told him he was hit fourteen times, mostly in the back of the legs, but several to the the skull and one blow to the elbow. At the time, it had seemed that they hit him a thousand times. He fell to the ground rapidly, and thankfully, Angela and Brennan had been walking the same way. Brennan dialed the ambulance while Angela held her jacket to any wound of his that was bleeding. More then anything, it was frightening.

Zack, who rarely cried, sobbed when Angela put her arms around him, holding him close. "It's okay-" She had whispered to him, rocking him back and forth. "You're going to be okay."

Because for all his intelligent theories and speedy hypothesis, Zack was still almost a child in physicality, and almost entirely in his mind. Angela rubbed his back as they waited for the ambulance to come, and he sobbed uncontrollably, grateful that it wasn't Booth or Hodgins or even Cam that had found him. It was frankly, embaressing. And when Angela tried to leave to flag the ambulance down, he grabbed her hand, insisting she stay with him. "Sweetie-" She sighed, leaning down. Tears still stained her cheeks.

"I'll be right back, okay?" Angela tried to pull away, but still Zack clung tearfully. She pulled off her sweater and wrapped it around him. "Dr. Brennan will sit with you, okay? Just- one moment." Zack nodded dumbly, and as Brennan made mindless antropology comments, Zack wrapped himself in the sweater and pretended Angela was still there. He must have looked ridiculous, sitting there bleeding, clinging to a beige, too big, womans sweater. The wool felt good against his skin. Warm.

Later, he had washed out the blood and given it back to Angela. She refused, giving it back to him. "It looks all right on you, Zack-Attack." Smiling, she ruffled his hair, happiness dancing around the edges of her dark eyes. "See you later?" She offered, clasping Hodgin's hand. He made an attempted apologetic glance at Zack.

_For the briefest moment, he felt jealousy. But he wasn't sure who it was intended for. _

Zack runs over the two memories, but they aren't enough. He will piece together ten pieces, and ten pieces only, of the mere five who care for him. He will use the elements to keep him sane.

The only sound comes from the steady dripping of the water.

_Zack closes his eyes, exhausted._ Hodgins is redecorating, and he's up half the night, questioning Zack on preferable paint chips and wood furnishings for the impending move in of Angela. Zack nearly starts to fall asleep in his uncomfortable chair, but spies a shining slab. Carefully, Zack launches himself up onto the uncontaminated metal surface and curls up into fetal position, feet hanging over the edge of the table.

"Zack?" Booth asks hesitantly, peering around the edge of the door. "What?" Zack demands irritably from the table. Booth holds up his hands in surrender, backing away cautiously. "Whoa. Just wondering if you'd identified that- leg- knee- boney-"

"Tibula." Zack says wearily, swinging himself off the table. He rubs his face. "I'm sorry, Agent Booth, but I have not identified the tibula. However, I should do that now. You're correct."

Zack turns back to the metal table, grabs an instrument, and proceeds to pass out, nearly stabbing himself in the process. Fortunately, Booth manages to catch him with one large hand, holding up his slight body. "Zack?" Booth implores uncertainly, supporting the dead weight with both arms. "You okay, man?"

Zack woozily spies Booth's face coming back into sight. "Yes. I am almost certain I am fine. Probably just a side effect of stress, little sleep, and being over-worked. But don't tell Dr. Brennan about that last part-" He adds hastily, wringing his hands.

A moment passes. "Um, I can get to my chair if you just let me-" "Oh-" Booth withdraws his hands, shaking his head and chuckling. "Sorry." Zack eases himself into the chair, sighing and rubbing his head. "Uh- right. The leg- knee-bony thing?"

"Tibula." Booth supplies, horrified at the role reversal. "Seriously, Zack. Go get some sleep."

"Regretfully, I cannot, Agent Booth. There is a murder and I need to catch him, so I would appreciate it if you would just let me do my job." Zack snaps back at him, standing up way too fast and obtaining a head rush. His brain pounds, as though ten thousand watts have been bolted directly into it.

Booth looks almost hurt. "Sorry, didn't realize this was so sensitive. I have people to investigate anyways, so-"

"Yes, that's fine." Zack feels remorseful about lashing out at the agent, the least close of all his friends. While he recognizes that it was only concern, his head aches and his feet hurt and he's very tired.

Three hours later, Zack turns around to a cup of coffee and a note on a napkin in permanent marker, complete with a crudely drawn sad face. "Sorry." It reads, and Zack turns to find a sheepish Agent Booth waving from behind the glass. And though he doesn't drink coffee, this time it doesn't taste so bad. _Almost like cinnamon..._

_And then there was that one time _at Cam's office birthday party where everyone got extremely drunk and they decided to play truth or dare.

Angela giggles, cheeks flushed. "God, I feel like I'm in fourth grade." Hodgins leans into her more then usual, eyes glittering with idealistic sexuality. She places her hand on his knee, softening to his touch.

Zack turns away. He honestly needs to stop dissecting their behavior before it turns obsessive. And he needs to stop reading body language pyschology books, too.

"Eenie, meenie, minie- Zackaroni!" Cam declares drunkenly, taking another swig from her bottle of vodka. That will hurt in the morning, Zack observes, thankful that his bottle is filled with water instead.

"What ritualistic social emberessament must I perform?" Zack sighs. Booth exhales in an exaggerated tone. "Truth... or dare, Zack."

"Er, dare." Zack selects randomly, nervously wrapping his arms around his jean clad legs. Cam's dark eyes narrow dangerously. "You must... kiss Hodge Podge."

"For at least half a minute." Bones adds enthusiastically. Booth glares. "What?" She asks irritably. "Both genders are equally attracted to the thought of two members of the opposite sex having inter-"

Booth raises his hand in a stop motion. "I so don't want that mental image..." He mutters.

Hodgins raises an eyebrow. "Are you guys serious?" When Cam nods, he turns to Angela for- permission? No. Acceptance, Zack decides. Angela laughs. "Go nuts. Just don't leave me for him."

Hodgins sighs, scooting across the floor to sit cross legged across from Zack. "Do I have t-" "Yes." The crew choruses, leaning forward in their seats. "Fine." Hodgins exhales. "Turn your head." He demands of Zack, leaning forward the slighest bit more.

Zack can't decide if he feels apprehensive, irritated, or... _aroused_.

Hodgins angles his head so he's barely an inch away from Zack. Zack can count every single birthmark and freckle on his face, mark the particulars of his beard, sense the scent of sweat and cologne rising off him headily. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to react here." Zack adds nervously. "Follow my lead." Hodgins huffs. All at once, Hodgins grabs the back of his head, mussing the hair there slightly, and pulls him in.

His lips are increasingly warm, Zack notes, and when they collide Zack can sense the wetness and firmness of his touch, map it almost. Their lips slide awkwardly against each other, and when Hodgins's hand slids down to grasp Zack's wrist in one attempt, encircling the bone easily. Zack's eyelashes flutter against Jack's cheeks, planting butterfly kisses there, and it makes Hodgins kiss him harder. Zack is utterly confused.

But still, time marches on. Zack revels in the strangely satisfying scratch of the beard against his chin, rough and smooth at the same time. The two sensory's make no sense apart, but make perfect sense in conjunction with Hodgins. It's a contradictory statement, but Zack makes it all the same. And- Hodgins tastes strange. Like chapped lips and banana flavored vodka and something almost herbal, as though he'd been cooking. When Hodgins coaxes open his mouth with a wandering tongue, Zack feels a strange thudding in his chest and a nervous drop in his stomach. Oh. Oh my.

Hodgins slides his tongue across Zack, wet and delicious. The awkward position that they're in shifts, until they're lying perpendicular on the floor, Hodgins lying on the floor. Zack takes in little breathy pants as Hodgins's hands move to his ass, and the other slides up his shirt-

"Hot!" Angela encourages, squirming forward to see better. Brennan looks shellshocked in a good way, and Booth shellshocked in a bad way, and Cam is passed out on the floor, vodka still in hand.

"That was way more then thirty seconds." Booth points out. Angela smiles. "Did you forget we were here?" She teases gently, grabbing Hodgin's arm. "Next time, the two of you better remove your shirts."

"Yeah." Hodgins says, looking a little dazed, still untangling himself from Zack. "Yeah, next ti- wait, what?"

"Well, sweetie... that was hot." Angela pats Zack on the back a little too roughly, making him choke on the sip of water he has. He can't decide if the hard pat is out of malice or alcohol. _He chooses to go by the latter. _

_November of that year is cold as hell. _Or, rather, the opposite. Cold as heaven? Zack ponders, stepping outside of the Jeffersionan and into the cold night air. He spots the glowing light of a cigarette butt in the distance. "Cam?" Zack steps forward uncertainly, attempting not to trip in the near dark.

"Zack?" Cam peers around. Zack walks up to her. "I didn't know you smoked. Can I have one?" He asks hopefully, shuffling his feet. Cam puts a hand on his hip and looks him over. "Ever smoked before, Zackaroni?" Zack shakes his head and Cam laughs.

"No way. I'm not going to be responsible for corrupting America's youth single handedly." "Maybe you and Agent Booth could get a team together." Cam laughs, even though Zack wasn't joking.

She purses her lips, pushing more smoke out. "You know what, Zack? Sure. You're probably logical enough to be aware of the consequences." Cam lights it for him carefully, not wanting him to burn his fingers. He takes it gingerly, and inhales-

And chokes violently. It's disgusting. "That was- unpleasing." Zack says, confused.

"Told you." They stand there in silence as the smoke hangs in the cold air, alongside the unsaid words,_ curling and unfurling to soar over the Jeffersonian. _

The steady dripping of the water is progressing at an alarming rate, Zack notes, dropping his 's a layer of water almost up to his shackled ankles and-

Oh.

The plan is not to wait for Hodgins's money. The plan is to kill Zack. As a warning. Oh. Drowning. His remains may be comprimised. His remains may take a while for the team to identify. Water accelerates decomposition. Zack writhes uncomfortably, attempting to get free. More memories, Zack. Memories calm you.

_Hodgins slams open the door to Zack's apartment. _"Well," He announces angrily, throwing down his messanger bag and mussing his hair in frustration. "That chick I met on the job is sick and refuses my assistance, so I guess I basically made too much food and Zaaaack, come help me eat it." He pleads. However, it's to no avail.

Zack sits cross legged on the couch, back straight and watching Firefly re-runs. "I have plans, Hodgins." Hodgins laughs. "Mmm, no. No, you don't. Food. Eating food that is not leftover pizza and macaroni from a box." He coaxes, tugging at Zach's sleeves.

Zack turns around hopefully. "Will there be mushrooms?" He loves mushrooms. Hodgins ruffles his too-long hair. "There will be both mushrooms and the original Star Wars. Come watch television with me."

Zack eagerly bolts down the stairs. It turns out Hodgins has made pasta and he even lets Zack put as much cheese on it as he wants. And there's mushrooms. Happily, Zack munches pasta, curled up on the floor. He stretches out his lanky body and watches Star Wars happily, feeling warm and protected.

The happy silence passes between them for a while before Hodgins asks: "Do you think I have a chance with Angela?" Zack considers. "You are almost polar opposites."

Hodgins snorts. "Brennan and Booth are polar opposites and look where they are." "True..." Zack counters, twirling the remainders of his noodles around his fork and sticking it in his mouth. "I am not qualified to discuss relationships, Hodgins."

"That's not true-" Hodgins protests. "What about Naomi in palentology?" Zack dismisses it. "We did not achieve sexual intercourse."

"Dude, too much information." They watch Luke slay Storm Troopers for several more seconds before Hodgins has to ask. "You've- had sex- though, right?"

Zack's voice overlaps Hodgins. "Once. In high school. She did not orgasm. Neither did I. On the whole, the interaction was quite- boring." Hodgins rolls his eyes. "Well, it's not any good the first time." He says sarcastically, digging in his pasta for the last of his mushrooms. "But no second time? No third time?" When Zack shakes his head, floppy hair bouncing, Hodgins whistles. "Wow. There is a reason you're so uptight. You need to get laid!" He points his fork at Zack accusingly.

"I don't have time." Zack says curtly, turning his attention back to the movie, or at least, attempting to.

"You need to relax, Zack. No more sitting on wooden floors. Up. On nice couch. Comfy couch." Hodgins pats the seat beside him. Zack approaches him with apprehension, clamboring up on the couch. "See? Isn't this nicer, my alien friend?"

Zack snorts. "Extra terristrails do not exist."

"Yes, they do." Hodgins whirls around, looking injured.

"No, they don't."

Two and a half hours, three books, and two episodes of Star Trek later, Hodgins is snoring softly, mouth wide open. Zack's bare feet are touching his, and he thinks of the places his head wants to be lying. Jack's lap. His shoulder. His chest. But his head instead lolls on his shoulder. It's not enough.

_It's not. _

The water is climbing to his hips now, engulfing his legs and the tips of his fingers. Zack shudders. Like riding a car or a bicycle, swimming is just one thing he never learned how to do. Dr. Brennan tried to teach him once, but he panicked. Just as he is panicking now. He hopes to god that they're examining particulates, tracing phone calls- anything. It is illogical to hope, but it is also logic that fucked him up in the first place, so what the hell.

Zack closes his eyes, fighting the rising urge to vomit. He remembers.

_Booth crosses his arms for the umpteenth time. _"Zack. You have to learn to swim. It's not safe to not know how." He chastises, shaking his head for added effect. "Don't pressure him, Booth. He'll get in when he's ready." Brennan nods at him.

Zack realizes that it's highly unprofessional to have your employer see you in your bathing suit. He wraps his arms around himself, shivering. Booth, clad in dark jean shorts, wades in after him. It's mid-day at a pool, and it's actually quite cold for June. "Okay, Zack. On your stomach."

"Don't wanna." Zack protests, reverting to childish logic. "'s cold."

Booth turns to Brennan incredously. "He can dissect cadavers, but he can't swim? Zack, you have to learn. On your stomach."

"He has his gun here." Brennan supplies helpfully, lounging in her deck chair. Zack immediatly flops onto his belly, ends up swallowing water, and Booth has to fish him out of the pool. He shakes his head. "Your turn, Bones."

"Don't call me that." Dr. Brennan mutters, stepping into the water. It's strange to see her without a lab coat. Really strange. Zack mentally slaps himself after attempting to look down her top. "You have a freckle on your left breast." He muses aloud. Brennan flushes and attempts to cover herself up.

"Forget it, Zack." Booth growls. "You didn't come here to check out chicks. You came here to learn life saving techniques."

"You came here to see Dr. Brennan in her bathing suit." Zack shoots back. Booth glares, then drags him back to the car with one arm only.

But they get chocolate ice cream on the way back, and Zack, happily licking and crunching, observes Booth place his arm around Brennan, who to her credit, does not push him away. Instead, she smiles shyly and leans into the touch. And in the dim light of the setting sun, _it seems almost- normal. _

With a satisfying crunch, Zack pulls his leg chains out of the wall. His body still aches, but with the adrenlian running through him, he's not tired. He stands, the water almost to his chest. The door is barricaded- the windows as well. The room is quite small. Taking a few deep breaths, he reconstructs the last few memories.

_"What's this kind of music called?" _Zack asks, intrigued. Tribal, Jamacan drumbeats and trumpets flow through a steady punk tempo. Jack grins, pulling a maggot out of the corpse in front of him. "Ska-core, dude. Like- Reel Big Fish? No Doubt? Save Ferris? It's a way of sticking it to the man. But with trombones." He goes back to his corpse. "Just don't start dancing."

"Why not?" Zack asks, indignant. "I am a fair dancer, I'll have you know." Hodgins snorts. "Okay, you won the singing thing, but no. Only the King of the Lab (namely, me, forever) can dance properly."

"Oh yeah?" Zack prompts, swiveling around in his chair. "I sense a challenge!" Hodgins grins. "Okay, dude. Dance off. Right here, right now." Zack can't actually dance. He just loves getting one over on Hodgins. He raises to his feet and waves off Hodgins expecting glare. He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, trying to remember everything he knows about dancing.

He starts to sway his hips and snap his fingers, moving forward slowly. "You've watched Footloose way too many times, Kevin Bacon." Cam comments, walking past the lab. Zack stops. "Cammy. Join us." Jack says, waving an inviting hand to the room. She sighs, then starts doing a sort of foot shifting hip shaking hair swaying girl dance, which requires no talent at all, but looks pretty hot.

Then Jack starts breaking out his disco moves and oh boy, they're all going to hell because this boy is terrible. When he starts doing the swimming moves, Angela peers in with a delighted cry of "Smashmouth!" and begins her own_ Angela _dance.

Zack starts head-banging and everyone else starts laughing so hard they can barely breathe. Zack doesn't quite understand why. This is his best move. Brennan and Booth soon put in an appearence and begin waltzing around the room and singing badly. Work is utterly forgotten for the day.

And when they say their goodbyes, drenched in sweat, Hodgins hands Zack the CD. "Go practice your moves." He snorts. "Can I have a ride home?" Zack asks hopefully. "Sure, buddy. But hop in the back. Angela's coming over."

_Zack wants to know if he's supposed to feel jealously here or not. But he doesn't. Know. _

Zack is beginning to panic. His legs float up, off the ground, and the water is extremely cold. Lake water cold. Hypothermia cold. Something in his head hurts. Memories. The memories hurt. He wants them to know who he is. He wants them to identify his body and know that he's dead and move on.

He draws his sharp pocket knife from the pocket of his lab coat. It's essential for removing tissue on the spot, Brennan says. Well. It still is.

Zack scratches words into his skin. The first incision causes a sharp roar of pain, but he'll be gone soon anyways.

_Doctor Zacharious Uriah Addy, Doctor Zacharious Uriah Addy, Doctor_

The water is approaching his head now, blood mixing with water. Zack's head whacks sharply against the ceiling and he wishes to god he was on the most awful horrible murder case, in the worst, most awful mood. But he's about to die and so he thinks about love. He draws in one last breath, knowing that it will not be dark, cold water swallows him whole.

_It's the day after he returns, _and this is the first time he's seen a corpse since he got back. The clinical air of the lab helps, but he can still feel bile and panic rising in his throat. He fights it back.

Angela walks into the lab, brushing too-long hair out of her bright eyes. "Hi sweetie." She says brightly, taps Zack on the shoulder, who whirls around, happy to be rid of the corpse. "Hello." He murmurs, feigning thought. "I was just about to remove the tissue. Is there something you need help with?" Zack asks hopefully. Angela shakes her head.

"Just wanted to see you." She smiles, rubbing her hands over Zack's short hair. The touch ellicts something from Zack. Some far off and frightening memory. He bolts backwards, colliding with the roll top table. The tools scatter across the ground.

"Don't touch me." He says stiffly. "Don't-" Iraq lingers with him still. He still hears gunshots. He still remembers. Angela backs away, a worried crease in her brow. "Sorry, Zack, I-"

He shuts down. He goes catonic. Later, they told him that everyone had tried to talk to him. But all he could see at the moment was wounded soldiers and bombs and terrible memories. When Zack drifts back into reality, he grabs out into empty space and finds a startled Brennan.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan!" He bleats, getting to his feet. "I'm sorry! Don't fire me!" Zack pleads, brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. "I won't fire you, Zack. It wouldn't be up to me anyways." She says, not unkindly. "But you need to get some pyschological-" Brennan shudders at the mere mention. "...help."

"I will." Zack promises eagerly. "I will."

Brennan smiles gently. "Okay. I'll set you up with one tomorrow. But in the meantime- diner?" She suggests. "French fries. I'll buy."

Zack nods eagerly, and risks a one armed hug. _It doesn't evoke anything but fond memories. _

Zack opens his eyes, the cold water stinging his eyes. Every inch of his body feels pricked, either by pain or freezing. He can almost feel his heartbeats slowly down. Objects drift around the room- chairs. The cell phone Hodgins made him buy. Scraps of paper, random ideas scrawled over lunch or during the night. It's almost a surreal collage of his life. Zack Addy has done everything and told nothing. His lungs feel as though they are about to burst. I will die. He thinks. I will die.

Dr. Brennan flashes through his mind first, looking up from her notes and shooting him a quick and polite smile. Angela swipes a strand of hair behind her ear and shows him a drawing, asking his opinion. Booth give him an accepting nod, a pat on the shoulder, a manly acknowledgement. Cam ruffles his hair. Hodgins- Hodgins stands to face him and kisses him square on the mouth.

_Grasping onto the things he knows, Zack tries to keep faith, or love, or something inside of him, but all he knows is memories of them. _

_One. Baseball in the moonlight. _

_Two. Wearing her sweater._

_Three. Coffee in the lab. _

_Four. Kissing him._

_Five. Smoking with Cam._

_Six. Long nights spent with him. _

_Seven. Attempting to swim._

_Eight. Dancing with his family. _

_Nine. Being saved. _

_Ten- ten- _

A hot tear joins the freezing water and something is finished.

Or perhaps- begun.

(A/N: Review if you want to know what happened. This is an angsty one shot, but there is a possible sequel in the making.)


End file.
